


Boundary Issues

by windfallswest



Category: Chalion Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Age Difference, Cougar - Freeform, Demonic Possession (sort of), First Time (sort of), I love tagging this pairing, Masturbation (sort of), Multiple Partners (sort of), Other, Voyeurism (sort of), sorry that was a REALLY bad pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 05:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10847706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: There's something Pen and Des need to work out. Set afterPenric's Demon.





	Boundary Issues

Penric woke aroused, but by now his arm barely twitched before he restrained the impulse to reach for himself. He lay staring up at the shadowy ceiling. 

"Well, I suppose we're going have to work something out." Penric spoke quietly but aloud. 

_Go ahead. We don't mind._

Desdemona wouldn't need a mirror to tell he was blushing, despite the dark. No more than to tell that his body, too long denied, was still distractingly insistent in its demands. If this went on much longer, he was going to embarrass himself in his sleep. If he wanted to evade prurient commentary, that was scarcely the way to go about it. 

"I'm just not used to all this...company." 

_Oh, we know. You're a virgin._

"You don't have to say it like that," Mira of Adria took over his mouth to say, and his hand to continue the motion aborted. 

Pen jerked back control of both. 

_I like a virgin now and then,_ the former courtesan continued in his mind. 

_The appeal of nervous fumbling passed for me pretty early on,_ Ruchia's voice spoke up. 

"Look, this isn't making things any easier," Pen told them. "I could do without the commentary." 

_So when you get a real woman in bed, you'll expect her to keep her mouth shut?_ came the tart reply. 

Pen blinked. He…hadn't quite thought of it that way. Partly because Desdemona's interjections hadn't seemed very lover-like. Also, in his timidly daring imaginations, he'd supposed Preita to be as inexperienced as himself. 

_Well? Do you mean all this talk of courting-gifts and betrothals?_ she asked him. _Or is it just pretty words?_

Pen knew Desdemona well enough already, not to mention had sisters enough, to recognise the dangerous edge to that question. It was true, he'd fallen upon betrothal as a metaphor for their conjoined state quite early on, the subject being rather on his mind. Now that he gave the matter closer thought, though, it wasn't an unapt comparison. Pen supposed they had rather in effect married each other. They were certainly going to be spending the rest of his life together, as well as the lives of any sorcerers who might come after him, after a fashion. 

_You pledged yourself to me before the White God._

And received His blessing, or near enough. More direct divine notice, anyway, than most marriages could boast. _Not exactly how I imagined my wedding night._ It would require a very, very understanding woman indeed to marry a man with ten wives already in his head (he decided, for the sake of his sanity, not to count the lioness and the mare just now). 

_So?_ Desdemona prodded. 

"Yes," Penric decided. Then, "Um. What now?' 

_What do you usually do?_ she returned. 

_Not like that,_ Mira scolded her more acerbic sistern. 

_Yes, you don't want to put the poor boy off again,_ agreed an impression Pen thought might be Vasia. Des had mentioned that she'd been something of a courtesan as well, hadn't she? He was starting to be able to keep the names straight, at least. _Leave this to us._

Pen did not find this entirely reassuring, but at least the heckling did drop off. He felt a prickle of nerves, and excitement. This was hardly like being with a woman of flesh and blood, but it was as close as he'd ever been. 

_There's no need to fret so. No one's bits to worry about but your own, this time. Although we might give you quite an advantage, when it comes to that. The stories we could tell you..._

Just the thought made Pen's face burn again. His body, flagging somewhat in the distraction of all the back and forth, started to perk up again. Slowly, Pen lifted his hand. 

_This is new to us, too,_ Des reminded him, seeming to whisper in his ear. _Will you pull down the bedclothes? Let us see?_

Pen heated at the thought that it would please her to look. He threw back the light covers, paused, then wriggled out of his nightshirt for good measure. 

Laying back, nude and half-hard, Pen tried not to feel self-conscious. This was hardly something he could do _wrong_. Unless it turned out he couldn't do it at all. _Not_ a helpful thought. 

Desdemona tugged his gaze down to take in the view. Pen supposed she hadn't had much of a chance before; he didn't spend much time looking at himself, dressed or undressed. It was a serviceable body, he supposed. Pen didn't know how comely a woman would find it. 

His eyes tracked downwards of their own volition. He was fit enough, if not terribly imposing. His torso was pale but lean, nipples pink and peaked. Strappy muscles worked under the skin of his long limbs as he shifted nervously. 

The curly hair at his crotch was thicker and a few shades darker than that on his head, and rising out of it stood his cock, still not entirely certain about the proceedings but increasingly interested. Pen tried not to think how it compared with the estimated thousand Desdemona's previous riders had encountered. Was it too long? Too slender? Was the leftward curve too pronounced? 

_A very pretty boy indeed,_ she murmured warmly. 

"Th-thanks," he stammered breathlessly. 

_That wants some attention, though._

Tentatively, Pen reached down and at last took himself in hand. That, at least, was familiar, although he did not usually watch himself. 

Desdemona's palpable alert presence kept this long-delayed relief from being quite routine. It sent a thrill of new excitement through him. 

He took his time, first pulling himself to full hardness. Then he teased the skin over the head until it grew slick and his breath hitched, lingering as he didn't often do, seeking pleasure and not just release. 

There was something to what Desdemona had said about only having his own parts to worry about. Pen knew what to do with a woman, generally. He had older brothers, after all. But he _definitely_ knew what to do with himself. 

Pen's cock-head peeked in and out of his fist as he stroked his length. It really did look more than a little obscene—which, he granted, it was—all suffused with pent-up ardour and as naked as the rest of him. 

_Like it,_ Desdemona purred. Pen thought she kept his eyes open when he might have scrunched them shut in concentration. His heels dug into the mattress as he pumped into his fist. _You have good hands, Pen._

" _Des,_ " he moaned lowly. 

_Close,_ she said. _We want to see._

Pen just managed to strangle a louder sound before he spilled. Seed arced up to splatter emphatically on his chest and belly. _Yes._ He was so glad he wouldn't have to avoid doing that for the rest of his life. 

_Do it as often as you like._ Desdemona gave an impression of sleepy satiation, much as Pen was feeling. 

"Good?" he queried muzzily. 

_Very,_ came the answer.


End file.
